


someone new

by sapphiclemon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Crowley is only nice to Aziraphale, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Goth Crowley (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Moving In Together, They're basically an old married couple, Witch Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29179890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphiclemon/pseuds/sapphiclemon
Summary: “Ah, yes, so sorry, I should’ve introduced myself first.” He thrust out his hand before continuing, “I am Aziraphale Fell. I am the witch that lives in these woods.”Crowley thought his ears were playing tricks on him. Why would the witch be here, on his doorstep? What did he want?“Crowley. Sorry for yelling.”-Crowley is someone who wants to be left alone. However, his witch neighbor's constant stream of visitors makes it very difficult.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67





	1. howdy neighbor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elxetera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elxetera/gifts).



> this entire fic is based on [this post](https://twitter.com/elxetera/status/1356374953025822722). [elxetera ](https://twitter.com/elxetera) is also working on something similar!! I am super excited for this fic; lots of cuteness and fluff if I'm being totally honest! I hope you all like it as much as I like writing it!

Crowley was spending a wonderful, quiet night in his large black house drinking ink colored wine when heard a knock at the door.

These knocks came regularly. Very regularly, at all times of the day, every day. And Crowley was fed up with them.

It was the same thing every single time. A person asking if he was the witch they heard of. The faces of the people and their needs have blended together over so long, but every single time he told them the same thing.

‘No I am not the witch and I wouldn’t imagine myself ever being one. I can’t help you, so,  _ shoo _ !’ and he would slam the door in their face.

Sometimes unwanted visitors would be expectant enough of the door slam that they would be fast enough to place their foot between Crowley’s front door and frame. And in those instances, Crowley would begrudgingly open the door again and ask in a feigned polite voice ‘Yes?’ The visitor would then ramble more about whatever they needed, and would then ask for directions to the  _ actual _ witches cottage.

Crowley would sigh, and point to the other end of the woods, giving the instruction to walk straight claiming that the visitors ‘couldn’t possibly miss it. It’s wooden and small but no one ever seems to miss it. No, I’m not sure if the witch will help you. I don’t know if you’ll find it. Yes, he actually has magic. Goodbye!’ and then he would slam the door a second time and thankfully be left alone.

Now, Crowley had never actually met the witch himself but he figured he must be the real deal if so many people were flocking to meet them day in and day out. There must be good reason why so many people knew of the witch and were seemingly willing to travel far and wide to get their help.

But Crowley wished that  _ at least _ the witch could give more precise directions to their home. It was annoying and tedious to be answering the door constantly.

So when Crowley heard another knock on the door while he was spending his time relaxing, his patience had finally reached an end.

Instead of faking politeness, Crowley sprang up, stomped to the door, and flung it open, letting it slam against his shelf filled with gorgeous plants.

“Listen you moron, you better leave right now. I am sick and tired of people fucking knocking my door down. No, I am not the witch. My house doesn’t even look like it belongs to a witch! Just leave me alone!”

The man that was standing on the other side of the door was the personification of the words “proper” and “sensible”. He had his hands folded over his stomach and very light blonde hair. His eyes were very blue and expressive. And the man was currently expressing his displeasure with Crowley yelling at him. He was wearing fitted corduroy pants and a light blue shirt with a gold embroidered waistcoat over it. He was very pretty, but the furrow in his brow made him look both young and wise beyond his years.

Crowley wasn’t sure whether to hate him or not.

“Well dearest, I’m not sure that is the nicest way to start a conversation with someone. Quite a rude introduction in my opinion. And I have no clue what you’re talking about! The horrible paint job on this house sure makes it look like it belongs to a witch. Of course, stereotypically. ”

Crowley gaped at him. “What?”

“Ah, yes, so sorry, I should’ve introduced myself first.” He thrust out his hand before continuing, “I am Aziraphale Fell. I am the witch that lives in these woods.”

Crowley thought his ears were playing tricks on him. Why would the witch be here, on his doorstep? What did he want?

“Crowley. Sorry for yelling.” 

Crowley was gobsmacked. Never in all his years of life has he ever apologized for something so insignificant such as yelling at an uninvited  _ guest _ on his doorstep. At some points, he would go out of his way to be rude to the people that bother and provoke him. So the fact that he said sorry, genuinely, especially to someone that has caused him a lot of distress made him uncomfortable.

“Anyway,” Aziraphale interrupted his thoughts, “May I come in?”

Before Crowley could answer, Aziraphale  _ pushed past him _ and entered  _ his _ house as if he lived there.

‘He would look nice living here,’ a small voice at the back of his head added unhelpfully before he shot that thought down.

“Er, what exactly are you doing?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale sat down on his sofa and started to make himself comfortable.

“I have come to speak to you,” he answered earnestly before gesturing toward the chair before him.

Crowley sat down, still shocked he was letting a stranger tell  _ him _ what to do in  _ his own house _ .

“Some time ago, I was talking with a friend of mine and she told me about how hard it was to find my cottage. She was lecturing me about having clearer instructions to my home, but she accidentally let it slip that she met you on accident. She told me how you were very rude to her and all but slammed a door in her face! After I learned of such a horrifying experience, I started asking my guests if they met a cranky red-headed man. Most, if not all were agreeable and confirmed that  _ yes _ they had met a man of that description. They all told me of their experiences; very ghastly experiences from the sound of it. One of them even called you a monster! I came to ask, is this true? And if it is, why do you do such a thing?” Aziraphale huffed as he finished his ramblings. “So sorry dearest, I didn’t mean to go on for so long.”

Crowley sat in his chair as if he were a child being scolded by their mother. He didn’t  _ mean _ to be rude (yes he did), he just did it because he was constantly fed up with people coming and knocking on his door, bothering him.

However, Aziraphale made him feel guilty for the way he had treated people; and that was something in of itself for Crowley.

“Look, Aziraphale, I live here to get some peace and quiet. I hate noise and I hate being bothered when I don’t have to be. Your  _ guests _ are a threat to  _ my tranquility _ , so I genuinely feel that I am in the right for telling them to shove off, especially since some of them were very rude.” Crowley spat out. No matter how pretty the witch was, he wasn’t going to get Crowley to instantly stop being angry. It didn’t work like that.

Aziraphale seemed to think a bit before sighing and responding slowly, “I completely understand where you’re coming from and I actually agree with you for the most part. You are under no obligation to be kind to anyone. But it would be nice. Would there be a way that I could convince you to lighten up, just a little?”

Crowley was a little surprised to hear that coming from Aziraphale. He guessed that his first impression of him, the one where he seemed  _ sensible _ seemed correct.

But Crowley was smitten with the witch. He felt his heart skipping a beat every time Aziraphale leaned forward in emphasis or called him an adorably silly pet name such as ‘darling’. He was basically in his own personal hell; the actual embodiment of everything he had ever desired was sitting in front of him.

“I mean, I guess I could be nicer, just because you asked so politely.”

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you would do that? Dearest, thank you so much!”

‘ _ I’m doing it for you. You must know I’m doing it just for you _ .’ Crowley thought. But he couldn’t say that.

“Ngk, yeah. No biggie!” Crowley blurted out instead.

Aziraphale, however, looked like he wanted to tackle Crowley into a hug.

“My dearest, thank you so so much,” he said. 

They looked at each other a bit, the room tense and silent with words unsaid. The only sound that could be heard was Crowley’s clock clicking happily on the wall, but he didn’t mind. How could he mind when Aziraphale was looking at him like that? Like he had hung the bloody stars themselves.

Aziraphale was the first to move. He wiped his hands on his sensible corduroy pants and stood up. “Well, dearest, I think our discussion is done, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ngk,”

“Darling, would you walk me out?”

Crowley scrambled up from his seat. “Of course. Of course I will.”

The two made the short distance from the sitting room to Crowley’s front door.

Crowley opened it, and before Aziraphale could step out into the night, he turned around and asked hopefully, “Would you like to meet again? I rather liked this; we could have tea! Or cake!”

Crowley smiled. “I would like that.”

Aziraphale smiled back.

He was about to make his way out before Crowley said “Wait.”

Aziraphale spun around, more hope pouring onto his face. The witch really did wear his heart on his sleeve.

“Will you be safe on the way back? You don’t need an umbrella, do you?”

“An umbrella? Whatever would I need an umbrella for?” Aziraphale asked.

“I don’t know. I thought it might rain on your way back. I wouldn’t want you to get soaked. You seem like the type to be fussy over these sort of things.”

Aziraphale smiled, “You’re right, I am one to be fussy over these sorts of things.”

“Wait here,” Crowley responded before rushing off.

He came back holding a very nice, sturdy-looking black umbrella. Of course it was black. It was his favorite color.

Aziraphale beamed at Crowley, “Thank you, dearest, I’ll be sure to return it!”

“Of course Aziraphale. Thank you for popping by.”

And with that, Aziraphale stepped into the night, Crowley’s door shutting firmly with a  _ click _ behind him.

Crowley watched Aziraphale walk away through the black window of his black house. When he went to bed that night, he dreamt of a blond witch with corduroy pants and a gorgeous, floral patterned golden waistcoat.

It was a nice dream. The nicest dream he’s had in a while.

  
  



	2. you came back?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley doesn't expect Aziraphale to come back so he continues to be rude, but he is in for a surprise!

Crowley didn’t expect anything at all to change the next day, and he  _ certainly _ didn’t expect Aziraphale to keep his promise of meeting again.

Crowley went about his morning expecting to be as snobbish and rude to the people that showed up at his door as he always was. Wasn’t there a saying about how bad habits die hard? Anyway, Crowley figured that it would be his attitude going forth.

The first knock at the door came at 9:23 in the morning. Crowley checked the time to make sure. He straightened up and practically screamed at the young woman behind the door, determined to be as menacing as ever.

And when the second knock came at 9:57 that same morning (Crowley looked at the clock again), he was expecting to give the person on the other side the exact same treatment as the young woman.

But when Crowley opened the door, mentally preparing his speech as he did, he came face to face with the last person he expected to see.

“Aziraphale?”

“Ah! Hello dearest! How have you been?”

The man was so prissy. His sleeves were rolled up just right, completely symmetrical on both sides, showing a large expanse of his forearms.

Forearms that Crowley subconsciously started salivating over. It was the most attractive thing Crowley had ever seen in his life.

The rest of him looked impeccably the same. Corduroy pants, a golden, floral patterned waistcoat, and pants that  _ just _ covered Aziraphale’s ankles.

Crowley was slowly becoming more and more enamoured with him.

Crowley licked his lips, just having noticed that he’d spent an uncomfortable amount of time staring at the beautiful wonder that was Aziraphale. 

“Hey Aziraphale. To what do I owe the honor of your presence?” he mocked.

“I wanted to have a word with you,” he answered, pushing past Crowley for the second time in less than a day.

Crowley slammed the door after him, whipping around and internally wincing at the bang.  _ I need to stop abusing my door _ , he thought to himself.

“My dear fellow, do please sit down.” Aziraphale gestured at the chair across from him, much like he had the night before.

Crowley harrumphed and plopped into his seat, slouching like a sulking teenager.

“My darling friend told me that you scolded her this morning. I have simply come to ask if that is true and to get your side of the story.” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sneered, “Well obviously I did. Would your friend lie to you?”

Aziraphale frowned at him, “Darling, there is no reason to be quite so rude. Especially since you promised to be nicer. As for yelling at and slamming your door in my friend’s face, it is quite rude but ultimately I cannot control you. I simply came here to ask if you would please stop being so incredibly impolite.”

Crowley listened to what Aziraphale said, then sat pretending to be in thought for a bit before he leaned forward, glared at the witch, and gave out a slow, definitive “No”.

Aziraphale’s frown deepened.

The both of them sat together, Crowley glaring at Aziraphale and Aziraphale frowning at Crowley. The silence surrounding them was more irritating rather than awkward. They both wanted to say more and continue arguing; that is until Aziraphale’s eyes lit up, undoubtedly coming up with an idea,

“Well, how about I treat you to a picnic?” 

“Pardon me?” Crowley asked, taken aback.

“Would you like to go for a picnic?” Aziraphale asked once again.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s hopeful face. The light peeking through his window was catching Aziraphale’s hair, making his entire face glow more than it already was. His eyes were sparkling and his mouth pouted the tiniest bit. Crowley hated him. And he couldn’t possibly say no.

Aziraphale jumped out of his seat, his hands twitching towards Crowley, seemingly barely refraining from grabbing him and squeezing Crowley into a hug.

“Oh! Thank you my dearest! I’ll pop on over home quickly and get our lunch and a blanket for us to sit on.” he said, rubbing his hands down his waistcoat a few times and pacing a bit. “I’ll be back soon, love!” 

Crowley could barely get a word in before Aziraphale dashed out of his house, slamming the door.

“Love?” Crowley asked himself. Why did the witch say ‘love’? They weren’t ‘loves’!

_ He is so smart and wonderful though _ , a small part of his mind supplied before Crowley metaphorically glared it out of existence. No way would he ever love anyone, much less  _ Aziraphale _ .

He made his way to the kitchen, beginning to grind his coffee beans. Every morning he would have the same schedule; wake up, start and then drink his coffee (his meditation he called it), find ways to entertain himself (usually painting or gardening), and then go to sleep. Yelling at people who came to his door was also on there as well, but as people tend to move sporadically, so he couldn’t exactly plan them into his schedule.

He genuinely didn’t expect the witch to come back. Which was quite foolish, considering the man’s track record of keeping promises.

So when Aziraphale loudly invited himself in during Crowley’s morning “meditation”, he didn’t know whether to be angry or impressed with his persistence.

“Oh dear, I hope I’m not bothering you too much. I would hate to be a nuisance.”

“Oh no angel, you’re totally welcome to bust my door down anytime,” Crowley replied sarcastically, entering the room fully and sitting down on his couch.

“Oh, oh, thank you.” Aziraphale gave a relieved smile, “It was bothering me quite a bit.”

They stood awkwardly for a bit more, not knowing what to say. Crowley had the sudden urge to compliment Aziraphale’s looks. He truly was gorgeous.

Aziraphale was the one to break the ice by asking, “Why angel?”

“Huh?” Crowley asked in return.

“Just now! You called me angel!”

“No I didn’t.” he snipped.

“Yes you did! You said ‘angel you are completely welcome to bust my door down anytime’!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes you did dearest! I heard you!”

At this, Crowley grumbled. It wasn’t his fault that the man in front of him was so, so, so soft. So  _ angelic _ .

“Oh dearest, there’s no reason to be embarrassed. I actually find it very cute.” Aziraphale reassured, taking a seat right next to Crowley.

“Cute? I’m not cute! Or embarrassed! What gave you that idea?” Crowley was outraged.

But Aziraphale just giggled. “Keep telling yourself that, my love.”

And Crowley just blushed.

* * *

  
  


An hour later, they were both outside, climbing a very large hill together. There was a meadow about a twenty minute walk from where they were, and they mutually agreed to have their picnic there.

It was lovely, though Crowley would never admit to thinking that. He had a certain image to maintain! He couldn’t go around calling things  _ nice _ and  _ lovely _ all willy nilly. It would ruin his reputation.

His reputation of what though, was a bit unclear.

Aziraphale seemed to be  thoroughly enjoying himself. He was holding a wicker picnic basket that had a checkered patterned red and white blanket poking out from the top. He was humming to himself and was walking with a tiny pip in his step.

Crowley should’ve found it annoying. He had no right to think it cute.

But he just  _ couldn’t help it _ . Aziraphale was so incredibly irritating that his irritating-ness canceled itself out. At least, that was the conclusion that Crowley had personally come to. It wasn’t that the little fluttery feeling that he was getting in his stomach when Aziraphale smiled at him was something positive. No, definitely not. It was the most inconvenient thing ever. He hated Aziraphale and he hated how he felt so warm around him.

In short, this was all impossible.

Once they reached the top of the hill, Aziraphale set down his basket and unfolded the blanket, setting it gently on the ground.

Crowley brooded under the large tree next to them, his arms crossed and glaring his scariest glare at the witch.

Aziraphale sat down and gestured at the seat next to him. He opened his basket and looked in, taking out two sandwiches and stretching his arm that held the other towards Crowley.

Crowley grumbled a bit and took a seat, pointing out that Aziraphale really loved to boss him around as he did.

At that, Aziraphale gave a small snort of laughter. One that Crowley should’ve hated with all his being. But it was just  _ too sweet _ . 

“My dearest, you seem to be in need of someone bossing you around. You are constantly harr harring, it’s a miracle you get anything done!” he joked.

Crowley flushed. That wasn’t true! He didn’t need someone to boss him around! And much less Aziraphale, the poncy bastard!

Of course, Crowley didn’t actually mean that. Well, not completely. But Aziraphale didn’t have to know that. He could just think that Crowley was as sour and rude as he let on. Then maybe he’ll leave him alone.

_ But do you really want him to leave you alone? _ that small, annoying part of his mind asked him.

And instead of tamping it down, he realized that he actually  _ didn’t _ want Aziraphale to leave him alone. The epiphany made him almost drop his sandwich.

Aziraphale noticed Crowley’s jerking movement and stopped talking about whatever stupid thing his stupid self was talking about.

“Oh love, are you alright?” he asked so gently. So kindly.

And of course, Crowley wasn’t alright. He was internally dying. And when Aziraphale called him  _ love _ so tenderly, his worst fears were confirmed. 

He was falling in love with Aziraphale.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! I'm back to writing this story! I am almost done and I cannot wait to share it with all of you! And of course, thank you so so much to my amazing and lovely beta reader [akira](https://twitter.com/Yearning_Gay)! I love you and couldn't have kept up the motivation to nearly finish this story without you! Muah!


	3. you mean so much to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like in any other relationship, there are temporary setbacks. However, when the people in a relationship in question are idiots, the setbacks can be much more dramatic.

Crowley had no idea how he was able to get through the rest of the day, all spent with Aziraphale.

He barely spoke. He  _ couldn’t. _ What would he even say? ‘Oh, sorry for not talking. I only just realized that I am starting to fall in love with you, despite thinking you’re the most irritating person that has ever spoken to me.’

But most of all, Crowley was scared. He’d never felt love towards someone, especially not  _ romantic _ love.

He’d been raised by his aunt Agnes, who was also a witch. She wasn’t cold towards him, but she wasn’t exactly affectionate either. She sort of just... ignored him when he was there. They never spoke beyond the necessity, and were more roommates than a parent and child.

He had lived with her until she died just a few years ago, leaving him to take over her cottage. Because of that, he’d never really had a strong loving presence in his life.

So when Aziraphale came along and flipped all that on its head, he was understandably afraid of what was unknown.

But he just couldn’t stop himself from spending time with Aziraphale.

The witch was simply wonderful. He would come over and spend his days at Crowley’s cottage, answering the door for him. Initially, Crowley had rudely resisted, but once Aziraphale pouted at him in the way that only he could, Crowley had relented. And it turned out to be better for both of them.

Crowley would go about his day, uninterrupted, which was a huge feat in his book. Aziraphale spent most of his time in Crowley’s living room, talking to visitors and occasionally taking care of them.

And whenever Crowley would peak into the room to check up on Aziraphale, his heart would twist at the sight of Aziraphale being so comfortable and gentle in his home.

Over the next few months, they spent most of their time together like this.

Aziraphale would arrive at 8 in the morning, letting himself into Crowley’s cottage (Crowley used to open the door for him and then go back to sleep, but he got fed up with waking up so early and made Aziraphale a copy of his keys). Aziraphale would then start Crowley’s coffee for him and set up whatever he needed for that day, whether it was potions or something else. 

Crowley would then wake up anywhere from 9:30 to 10 am and would make his way to the kitchen to pour himself some miraculously warm coffee and say good morning to Aziraphale before going about his day. Aziraphale would ask him how he slept, and Crowley always answered with a noncommittal hum. When Aziraphale finished up with whatever it was he was doing around 4 or 5 in the afternoon, the two of them would talk about anything and everything until he had to head home later in the evening.

It was so terribly  _ domestic _ .

Aziraphale started leaving his belongings at Crowley’s cottage instead of lugging them over every morning, and before long the entire front room had become Aziraphale’s workspace.

Crowley thought he would be annoyed, but was surprised to find his feelings on the contrary; he loved it.

He loved the simpleness and the kindness that he and Aziraphale had. He loved the tenderness, the quiet, and most of all, he loved Aziraphale.

He no longer tried to fight it after many months of inner turmoil and denial. Instead, he accepted his feelings toward the witch.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Aziraphale would actually return any of them. Aziraphale was only spending time with him out of necessity. It didn’t matter that Aziraphale smiled at him so sweetly. It didn’t matter that Aziraphale made him coffee and listened to Crowley while he was talking. Crowley knew that at his core, Aziraphale didn’t like him and was only nice to him to keep the peace in their relationship. And Crowley was fine with that. He really was! He didn’t expect Aziraphale to like him back, he was a grouch and he knew it. Crowley had spent most of his life alone, and he certainly didn’t expect that to change now.

That morning, so many months after Aziraphale and Crowley’s picnic (and so many months after Crowley realized his feelings for Aziraphale), Crowley woke up much earlier than he usually did. At 7 am to be exact.

So when Aziraphale walked in, Crowley was surprised to find that Aziraphale didn’t even bat an eye and instead went over to get himself a glass of water. Aziraphale passed by and kissed Crowley on his temple, asking him how he slept.

And Crowley froze.

But Aziraphale kept talking. He was saying something, but Crowley had stopped listening. His entire mind was racing, and his hand reached up to clutch the side of his face.

Aziraphale stopped as he turned around and looked at Crowley.

“My dear, are you quite alright?”

Usually, Crowley would revel in the nickname, but now it just made him flinch and look away. Tears were pooling in his eyes, but he blinked them back, determined not to cry where Aziraphale could see.

“Love, please, tell me what’s wrong.” Aziraphale rushed next to Crowley, reaching out to comfort him before thinking better of it.

Crowley looked up and desperately whispered, his hands still on his face, “Why did you do that?”

“Oh, darling-”

“Don’t call me that!” Crowley snapped, “Don’t you  _ dare _ call me that. You know exactly how I feel! Why would you say that?”

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale looked like he was about to cry himself. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know that would make you uncomfortable. Please, Crowley, I am so sorry. I wouldn’t ever hurt you on purpose. I didn’t know that giving you a peck would make you so uncomfortable, dearest, I won’t ever do that again, I swear. Please Crowley, I’m so sorry.”

Crowley wasn’t listening to most of what Aziraphale was saying. He knew it was just a complicated and extravagant rejection, and he didn’t think he could handle it. Subsequently, he didn’t hear it when the door to his cottage slammed closed and Aziraphale left.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Crowley couldn’t do anything. After Aziraphale left, he’d felt his heart break. He’d simply gone right back to bed, shut his blinds, and went to sleep, hoping to make the pain  _ go away _ . He didn’t even answer his door to yell at the people knocking, which was a testament in itself.

So when he heard his living room being flipped over, he popped his eyes open and dashed to the front of his cottage to see what exactly was happening.

And Crowley was very confused by what he saw.

A young woman, maybe in her early to mid-twenties with dark brown hair, tanned skin, and round spectacles, was flipping his furniture over.

“ _ What in the devil is going on here _ !” Crowley yelled, rushing forward and trying to put his furniture back.

The young woman sharply grabbed his shoulder, pulling him up to face her. She pointed a finger with a long black nail attached to it at him. And she was seething.

“What did you do? What did you do to him?” she screamed.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about lady! What are you doing in my house?” he screamed right back.

“Aziraphale! What did you do to Aziraphale?” she yelled and jabbed her finger to his chest to get her point across.

Crowley immediately shrank back as if he’d been hit. He felt his face crumble.

The young woman immediately softened, withdrawing her hand.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, obviously concerned, but very confused.

“Yeah,” Crowley sniffed and took a breath. “Yeah, I’m alright. Is there any way I can help you? What are you even doing here?”

The woman looked away guiltily before looking back at Crowley with much more confidence. “Aziraphale has locked himself in his study and won’t come out after he came home crying yesterday, and didn’t tell me anything. He had told me passively a few times that he was spending time with the scary man at the other end of the woods. I figured that something must’ve happened and came here this morning so, er…” her confident voice trailed off, and she looked away again.

Crowley got the general idea of what she was going to say next by looking around his trashed living room.

Immediately after that thought, Crowley felt his broken heart drop into his stomach. He realized that this woman must’ve been Aziraphale’s domestic partner, or… something.

The young woman then decided to introduce herself. “I’m Anathema Device. I’m also a witch.”

“Wow, we really can’t get enough of you guys around here, can we?” Crowley tried to crack a joke.

It fell flat. 

She cleared her throat. “Anyway, Aziraphale is my dearest friend, and I will not tolerate anybody who makes him cry. So,  _ what did you do _ ?”

“I’ll explain as much as I can if you can help me put my furniture back.”

She agreed.

A few minutes later, after his living room was back in order, Crowley explained everything. The first time they met, to their blossoming friendship, to the day before, when Crowley felt that his entire soul was ripped out of his body.

He didn’t mention that last part, of course. He didn’t mention anything too…  _ revealing _ . He didn’t want Anathema getting a bad impression of him.

Anathema looked at him sympathetically the whole time. She tried not to let it show, but Crowley could tell that she was able to pick up on his feelings for Aziraphale. Must’ve been some witchy thing.

She cleared her throat and got up from her seat, “I see what happened. I’ll get Aziraphale to come over and have you two talk it out.”

“What? No!” Crowley was shocked.

“What do you mean ‘no’? This can easily be resolved, you both just need to talk!”

“I don’t want to talk to Aziraphale ever again! He probably hates me, and I can’t talk to him knowing that he does! I love him too much to put him through more interaction with me.”

Crowley stopped.

It was the first time he’d said it out loud, to himself or to another person, and it was like he could feel the world shift. Like everything changed. Because Crowley was completely and purely honest to himself for the very first time. He had to keep himself from crying again.

Crowley looked at Anathema, expecting anger, or at least vengeance. But he didn’t find that. Instead, he’d found a soft smile, something kind and encouraging. And then Anathema said, “I think he likes you too.”

And wasn’t that so lovely; he felt himself flush. But he was still confused.

“But, aren’t you his partner? Why aren’t you yelling at me?”

Anathema scoffed, “No, of course not. He’s my friend and mentor, in a way. We exchange resources. I have books with magical knowledge, and Aziraphale knows how to put that magic into practice. He teaches me and I help him. And of course, he’s my best friend. No, Aziraphale is the gayest man I’ve ever met. I’ll have to tell Newton about this! He’ll have a laugh.”

Crowley smiled.

“I think I’m ready to see Aziraphale again,” he said.

“You better! I didn’t come all the way here, just for you to say no.” Anathema snorted.

And with that, she left. Crowley could only assume that it was with the intention to send Aziraphale.

* * *

  
  
  


Crowley sat on his puffy armchair, waiting for the fateful knock. So when it came, he flung himself out of his chair and slammed open the door.

On the other side stood Aziraphale, looking the same as he always did. His corduroy pants and golden floral waistcoat in perfect condition.

Yet something important was different. His smile.

Aziraphale’s smile was one that people would kill over. It was warm, and comforting, and encouraging, and every other bloody positive emotion that someone could feel. It was the warmth of the sun personified.

But when Crowley answered the door, his smile wasn’t as bright and as wonderful. It was meeker and more sad.

Even then, Crowley was so happy to see him. So happy he couldn’t keep down his emotions, which were insistently bubbling up. So happy that he simply had to shout at Aziraphale,

“I love you!” 

He was certain he turned a rather interesting scarlet color.

But it made Aziraphale’s smile return full force, so it wasn’t that bad.

Aziraphale desperately grabbed at his hands.

“Darling, is it true? Do you really mean that?” he asked, his voice so soft.

“Yes, angel. Of course it is. You’re the only good bloody thing that I have really.” Crowley replied sheepishly.

“Oh darling, let me hug you!”

Aziraphale could barely finish the sentence before Crowley grabbed him with everything he had and held him impossibly tightly. Crowley buried his nose in Aziraphale’s soft curls, breathing him in. Aziraphale brought his hands up and squeezed Crowley in return.

And Crowley couldn’t take it. Crowley started to cry.

But Aziraphale just squeezed him tighter and tighter, whispering to Crowley and telling him that he loved him. That he wasn’t going anywhere. And somewhere along the way, Aziraphale started to cry too. They were two lonely people who had finally found someone they could relate to and share their time with. It was lovely.

Crowley was the first to pull away, still holding Aziraphale’s hand. He dragged the witch inside his home and brought him to the sofa. He sat down, dragging Aziraphale with him, and brought him back into a hug.

Aziraphale hugged back, tighter than the first time. They stayed like that for a long while, neither of them wanting to move.

Aziraphale drew back the second time, but he was still touching Crowley as much as he could. Whether that was rubbing his knuckles or brushing his knee to Crowley’s, it was just nice to have the contact. The  _ reassurance _ .

“My love,” Crowley shivered at the nickname, “forgive me if this is too forward, but would you be entirely cross if I could kiss you?” 

Crowley blinked slowly at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale chuckled nervously, and was about to open his mouth to say something else before Crowley lunged forward and pressed their lips together.

It was messy, and they fumbled a bit around each other, but it was  _ so _ perfect at the same time. It was a closed mouth kiss, neither of them wanting to push forth right that second. They had time. All the time in the world. But right then, they were just happy and content to just be together, happy and in  _ love _ .

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I was so excited to post this I just couldn't wait until the morning! I'll post the last chapter very soon hopefully! Of course, that is if I don't end up extending it (it's a very very short chapter). Anyway! Thank you so much to my lovely beta [Ciara](https://twitter.com/Yearning_Gay)! I love you lots!


	4. our lives go on, together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spending time together is the nicest thing they could've asked for.

Many years later, Crowley would wake in his bed wrapped around a warm and familiar body. 

He and Aziraphale started sharing their lives soon after their confessions, and they couldn’t be happier.

They spent their days living peacefully at Crowley’s cottage. Aziraphale continued to do his work and research, and Crowley continued with his multitude of activities, no longer bothered.

They were married,  _ husbands _ . And oh, how they both loved that word.

Aziraphale and Crowley would use it at any given moment. Whether it was when Crowley answered the door to people searching for the witch, telling their visitors to ‘wait for him to fetch his husband’, or Aziraphale using it to constantly talk about Crowley and his gardening or art.

But it was evident to nearly everyone who heard them speak, they were completely and utterly besotted with each other.

That morning, however, Crowley was the first to wake, which was irregular.

He started his own coffee, knowing that it wouldn’t be half as good as the coffee his  _ husband _ makes for him. It would be too weak, and he would complain, and Aziraphale would remake it for him with a peck on his cheek and affectionate tutting.

And Crowley was very much looking forward to it.

  
  


**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! Thank you to everyone who has read and followed this story, you all are amazing! I know this chapter was incredibly short, but I seriously had no idea how to extend it! I hope you enjoy it though! Again, thank you to my beta [ciara](https://twitter.com/Yearning_Gay)! She was the one who motivated me and helped me get through this, being a cheerleader the entire time! I had so much fun writing this! It was so cute! I'm in the process of writing some other fics, so be on the lookout for those!

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sapphiclemons) and on [tumblr](https://sapphiclemon.tumblr.com/)! come say hi!!


End file.
